The Death of the Day
by straywriting
Summary: Life is in constant, perpetual movement. Lives, however, are not. Because endings aren't always happy and life does not always go according to plan. *No character death. Rated for language.


**Story Notes:**

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Warning:** Sensitive material.

**Rated For: **Strong language.

I owe Collegekid2006 so much I don't think anyone or even she can ever understand just how much thanks she deserves. She helped me find this fic's reason and then proceeded to help me beat it into every crevice of this story until it's made it to where it is now – complete and whole. So thank you CK for making this fic possible with your gentle encouragement, insightful help, and always kind (if not, at times, lecture-worthy) words.

I also owe DragonLadie some serious thanks for taking time to beta my fic. She helped me round out my story and keep the emotions balanced in the way I needed them to be.

To everyone else who's helped me and listened to me ramble on about this fic, especially patster, SydneyWoo, and RabidPorcupine, thank you so unbelievably much!

Lastly, the title of my fic comes from the magnificent song "The Birth and Death of the Day" by Explosions In The Sky.

* * *

**The Death of the Day**

The day's sun was receding into the western sky as Shawn Spencer sat idly on his couch. He was watching the playoff game between the Thunderbirds and Cardinals, hoping his team would finally make it to the Super Bowl. He needed some good news after all the bad that had been commandeering his life. With the Thunderbirds losing by seventeen and only a quarter left to make a near-miracle happen, he didn't think he would be getting the news he wanted.

He let his eyes focus on the game while his thoughts deviated to his wife. She would be home soon, no doubt tired and aggravated after being put on another "mundane" case that held no more satisfaction for her than saving a cat from a tree. He knew there would not be much he could do to alleviate her irritation, not when everything he tried only gave him more of his own. Instead he opted for focusing his attention on matters of distraction that saved them from heated encounters in which neither of them came out the victor.

His misplaced concentration slipped at the sound of the front door opening further back into the house. He breathed a sigh – _she_ was home. He wondered if this would be the night where they didn't fight or, worse yet, didn't let silence defeat their voices. At the sound of a muffled crash, Shawn had a feeling tonight wouldn't be that night.

"God dammit, Shawn! I told you to put your shoes away!" Her angry voice broke air as it reverberated throughout the house.

Shawn chuckled humorlessly – his tone full of degraded mirth as he replied offhand, "I did. You probably just walked into them."

The only response given to him was that of what had to be her purse hitting the kitchen counter accompanied by a faint huff.

They used to be able to talk about their day, their cases, their _future_, but these days they couldn't seem to meet each other's eyes outside of anger. The last years had consisted of small spats and large, over everything from doing the rinse cycle wrong to helping a murderer escape prison (whom Shawn proved innocent as he constantly reminded everybody). They'd found most of their fights started with hushed mumblings of annoyance over an unpleasant experience at work. Still some were set in motion because of their mutual irritation; either at each other or at no one in particular. The spats would gradually escalate in frequency and frustration due to unintended eavesdropping on one by the other.

Other fights began with a snide remark by one aimed at the other – either purposely meant to be hurtful or unintentionally cutting. It wasn't a question that their words always found their mark and, without fail, lit the fuse. The blow out tended to follow shortly after.

Their battles were always ones of slippery, quick, and harsh remarks that loomed in the air for hours afterward, the words stirring and simmering in memory, waiting for the next release to rehash the last. Each and every fight had an undercurrent of past mistakes and misgivings lying hidden behind the hurtful comments. Most fights faded into memory, but they were never forgotten, and nearly never forgiven.

Shifting slightly, Shawn attempted to put his concentration back into the football game. After a few minutes he found himself willing his team to score another touchdown before time ran out. His eyes lit up as number 42, Gasevich, went for a touchdown. Shawn unconsciously leaned forward into the TV, his body going rigid in excitement while his fists curled. He felt himself about to leap up in a cry of triumph when a red and gold linebacker tackled his hope to the ground. The ball flew from Gasevich's grasp, resting on the grass after a few pitiful bounces.

Shawn's hands uncurled in a fit of defeat as he let his body lax back into the couch, hunching slightly. He could never catch a break.

Listening to the referee drone on, Shawn wasn't prepared when two black and white tennis shoes were dropped into his lap. During a poorly executed attempt to jump away from the sneakers, he elicited a small cry and pushed the footwear off his pants in a jarring movement. He vaguely took note of the quick _thud_ their meeting with the carpeted floor created.

A small laugh drew him from his shock. "Oh, I'm sorry. You must have just _sat_ into them." The voice was smug, tight, and mocking.

In a quick movement, Shawn turned his body and found himself looking at his wife of fifteen years. In her gray suit and black dress pants she held an air of business and importance that refused to leave her until she stripped herself of the clothes in place of more casual wear. Her gun was holstered to her side and would remain that way until she changed. In the mean time the weapon became a means to intimidation and palpable strength. The blonde hair around her ears had begun to gray in the recent years which helped tie together an overall appearance of experience and intelligence. Although she played the part of a strong and experienced law enforcer at first glance, her face was lined and slightly haggard, making for a stark contrast between the way she tried to make herself be perceived and how she actually looked – worn and tired.

"What the hell was that Jules?" Shawn's query came out rough.

Jules stood next to the pale white banister, her voice loud as she replied. "I'm sick and tired of you leaving your shoes _everywhere_. It's not that damn hard to put them out of the way in the closet less then a _foot_ from the door!" Her temper flared resolutely. Shawn started up at her with a derided look.

Pulling her gray suit close, she opened her mouth and breathed in, speaking on the exhale. "For once in your life will you listen instead of thinking you know better?"

Shawn made a noise resembling a half-snort, half-laugh. "You know the only one I know better than is the bagger at the grocery store. He put the eggs in first. By the time I got them home there was yoke all over the bottom of the bag and floor. I never did get it all out…" He looked up at her with a wan smile on his face. She stared back without a hint of amusement gracing hers.

Breathing out some of her unwanted irritation, Juliet tried again. "Will you stop playing the fool and be serious, _just_ this once?"

Knowing he shouldn't, but not being able to deny himself, Shawn went for the 'push' button. "You know I can be serious when I want to be. This just isn't one of those times." Juliet gave him a look filled with unmitigated indignation. "Oh, _come on_, you can't honestly expect me to be that serious about _shoes_."

Her lip became an object of concern as she chewed on it lightly before her rebuttal came pouring out. "I'm not expecting you be serious about shoes! I'm expecting you be serious about what matters to me. If I care about where you put your shoes, then let it matter to you too." She might have been pleading if not for her exasperated tone. "Stop and think about others for once."

Shawn bent down, lifted his shoes off the floor and walked over to the side of the room. He dropped the apparel next to the wall. Making his way back to the couch, he fell back onto it with only the slight squashing of the pillows sounding. "There. I put my goddamned fucking shoes away where you won't trip."

"Shawn…"

"For the love of _god_, Jules, give me a _break_. You're always so up tight and damn _serious_ about EVERYTHING! I'm _not_. What the fuck do you want from me? I'm sorry I haven't been your damn knight in shining armor." He let go of the last word before realization that he stood up somewhere during his short-lived tirade hit. He was now on his feet before Juliet with only the bland blue couch separating them.

Pushing gray hair behind her ear, Juliet found her tone was steady upon reply. "After everything you still don't understand, do you?"

"Understand _what_?" He stormed while his arms jerked up into the air, verbalizing a degree of his irritation. "That I can't be the man you want? Well guess what – you haven't turned out to be the woman I wanted to wind up with either!" He started pacing angrily, pounding away some of his frustration between the banister and old recliner he'd brought over from his dad's house.

Turning her head to the side in a restrained manner, Juliet breathed deeply. "No, that's not it at all. Don't you get it, Shawn? I never asked you to be my knight, I just asked you to love me. But you've never understood that." By the time she finished Shawn had stopped his pacing, letting her face him again; Juliet's gaze lingered on her husband's face.

Shawn's lips twitched up into a discerning smile. "The guilt card isn't going to work here, Jules, you should know that by now. We've had this same fight a hundred times before – the only difference is our words. I don't know what I can say that isn't the same exact thing I've said every time before. I'm not even going to bother trying." Shawn turned back towards the flat-screen, taking note of the fact that the game had carried on without him. At least they were only down by fourteen now.

An unidentifiable emotion lurking in her eyes, Juliet snapped back at Shawn. "I didn't think you'd be one to cop out, Shawn." She laughed lightly as realization came to her. "Then again, you never did become a cop, did you? It's kind of hard to live up to expectations with a felony under your belt. I can't even imagine how ashamed your father was the day he arres–"

Spinning on his heels, Shawn stood before his wife in barely restrained anger. Advancing towards her, he spat out his words. "Don't bring my father into this, Jules. This is between you and me, not me and him." He stopped half a foot from her, feeling himself shake. "Even by your standards that was low."

She blinked. "_My_ standards? Do you really think that poorly of me?" She questioned. "Just because of one remark…" her tone was wispy and confused. "What happened to you?"

"This is the man you married. You just refuse to accept him for who he is."

Her eyes suddenly blazed a challenge, daring him to try her again as she spoke. "Oh, and who is _he_? Because he sure as hell isn't the same charming man I met in the diner."

He stared her down, his breathing harsh, verging on uncontrolled, as he made his return remark. "He's Shawn Spencer, and he made a mistake the day he married you."

Air freezing, individuals stalling, and time not daring to move forward while refusing to linger in the past, the room silenced itself. The place seemed an unwanted picture, capturing the moment in so much acuity that the tension became tangible. Turbulent emotions flowed beneath the thin lips of the woman and mistaken truths were waiting to be spoken from the man's. Nothing left the impeded persons' mouths however, for people in pictures do not speak in words, they speak in appearance. Here, they spoke _apocalypse_.

Taking its prolonged moment, movement and sound recaptured the room – Juliet staggered in place. "Is that… is that really what you think, Shawn? That I… that he…" she couldn't seem to wrap her tongue around her words to form a cohesive sentence. "That the last fifteen years have been a mistake? Is that honestly what you think?"

The gravity of his omission suddenly weighing heavily, the man strung his voice out, hoping to repent. "Jules…" Shawn started, trying to meet Juliet's eyes willingly for the first time in months without anger. She never gave him the chance.

Without a word, Juliet briskly walked from the white-walled family room. She headed down the hallway with an ultimate plan of making for the front door, which promised a different, less unpredictable reality.

"Jules… come on, baby. I'm sorry." The man ran a hand through his remaining gray hair – he gave up on jelling it a few years after it started receding – when he left his place in the family room to follow his wife.

By the time he made his way to the kitchen, Juliet already had her purse slung over her shoulder and suit buttoned up neatly. "You know baby hasn't worked for a long time." Her reply was sober when she brushed past him and made for the door.

Bypassing the bathroom and dining room, he let his feet follow her. "But you are my baby. I love you Juliet. I do."

"Then say it like you aren't trying to convince yourself." She said tiredly, stopping midway down the main hall.

Shawn forced himself to take a step back. "Stop it Juliet. Just stop trying to judge what you don't even know. You don't have damn clue how much I love you! And my mistake or no, you're the one who's giving up here."

Juliet felt anger bubble inside her stomach before it seared up her throat and out her mouth. "Shut _up_, Shawn! Just _SHUT UP_ FOR ONCE IN YOUR GODDAMNED _FUCKING_ LIFE!" She punctured each word with a forced jab to Shawn's ego. "I've tried _so_ hard at this relationship. For fifteen years I've tried to keep us together and keep myself from falling apart. Even after–" she stalled. "–_even after_ I lost the baby."

Shawn balled his fist. "God _dammit_ Jules. Why do you _always_ have to bring it back to Colin? Why can't you just let us move on?"

Juliet scoffed. "Because of _this_. You don't even care! You just want to forget it ever happened."

"Like hell I do! I just want us to get past it but you won't let us." His fist unclenched on the last word, slamming into the wall with a resounding _thwack_.

Juliet raised her voice. "How the hell am I supposed to get past never being able to have a baby? Tell me Shawn – how do I do that?"

Shawn twisted his body back towards his wife, his eyes narrow. "You know we had options. You're the one who said no, that you couldn't deal with a baby after everything!"

"I'm not the one that killed our child!" Her voice melted into the air, angry and forlorn tears hiding in her eyes.

Shawn felt himself breathe in deeply. "That–"

"All you had to do was wait for backup to arrive, they were five minutes out. Why couldn't you wait five minutes?"

Shawn's eyes flickered over their wedding photo on the wall. "Because he was going to kill you! What else was I supposed to do?"

"He said he wouldn't hurt me."

"The gun was at your head!"

"That doesn't mean he was going to shoot!" The detective yelled back, an angry undertone coming out.

"You can't know–"

"Yes, I can Shawn. He _promised_ he wasn't going to shoot me. I just wish you'd done the same."

He took another deep breath. "It's not my fault, Jules."

"Well then forgive me for ever _implicating_ you. What a mistake I've made. The _great_ Shawn Spencer could never be at fault for _anything_, could he?" She spouted bitterly, not giving Shawn a chance to stick sentences together for a response. "Forgive me, oh great Spencer, for wanting you to think ahead to the consequences of your actions."

"I _was_ thinking ahead. When I shot all I was thinking about was saving you and Colin!"

"No, _you_ weren't." She disregarded everything Shawn said. "You were only thinking about yourself. And in typical Shawn Spencer fashion you shot first, asked questions later. You never expected anyone to come barreling through the door behind you and throw your aim off… you never _thought_, and because of your inability to think ahead I lost everything."

"That's not–"

She didn't seem to hear his interruption as she carried on without him. "So how you can accuse me of giving up? You should know I've never given up, I've just grown tired of waiting for you to notice the world you've created." Her stare fixated itself on her husband's drawn features. "For someone with heightened observational skills, you've missed a whole hell of a lot."

Shawn didn't have a response. His mouth opened and closed like a bear sucking on honey; he was just as unable to make a response as though he had a mouthful of the same sickly sweet food.

"Something wrong, Shawn?" Her gaze was cool as she relished the sight of her finally speechless husband.

Hearing but not listening, his feet dragged him backwards. Shawn let himself fall onto the brown dresser behind him and struggled to find a reply over the white noise blaring in his ears. "No…" he swallowed air, gripping the edge of the bureau with shocked intensity. "It wasn't my fault… Colin's death wasn't my fault."

"Then whose was it?" Juliet asked calmer then either expected.

"I... it just wasn't mine. If I'd waited for the backup Cutlis _didn't_ know was coming showed up, then he would never have let you go. He can't speak for what he would have done in the heat of the moment."

"He did! Why isn't it getting through your thick skull that he _did_ speak for himself? He said he wouldn't shoot! You're the one who didn't listen." Shawn felt the accusation in her voice if not in her words.

"But if I hadn't shot… and even if I hadn't…" Shawn shook away unwanted thoughts as he rose from the dresser, right hand staying on the piece of furniture to give him grounding. "Either way you were going to get hurt, if not by him then by Green. You know that man was wanted for five murders. He killed his own _mother_ for god's sake! He wouldn't think twice about killing you and the baby."

"Why are you dragging the accomplice into this? Green was only barely stumbling into the room when you shot. Just admit that you pulled the trigger too soon." Shawn could tell her frustration was mounting.

"It wouldn't have mattered _when_ I pulled the trigger, Jules." He found a grim smile on his face.

Juliet tilted her head to the side slightly, confusion overlapping anger. "What do you mean 'when'?"

"I mean that no matter when Green came barreling into the warehouse, _you_ still would have moved right as I was pulling the trigger." Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch; he couldn't find the power within himself to attempt civility as he went in for the take down. "I never flinched, but _you_–" his glare came forth, hard and full. "–did. _You_ were the one startled into moving by Green. Not me – _you_. I may have pulled the trigger but I'm not at fault here. Stop trying to convince me otherwise." He finished in breathed vengeance, his heated glare continuing to intensify.

Juliet stared back at him, emotionless, before laughter flittered out her mouth. It was self-demoralizing and painful to listen to as she shook in her rambunctious, sorry laughter. "Shawn–" a snort. "–you honestly, _honestly_–" her eyes started to tear up in an akin resemblance to mirth. "–think that I moved because the door slamming _startled_ me?" Her laughter seemed to be tearing at the corners of her mouth. "_I_ moved because _I_ didn't _trust_ you." She fell back against the tan wall hard enough to tilt the family pictures above as laughter overtook her. She couldn't see the unsettled expression on Shawn's face through her hopeless exhilaration, let alone register the insignificant tilting of old photographs. "I honestly didn't think you were that _stupid_." Her disconnected chortles continued to rain from her lips before tapering off into a gentle pattering of pitiful giggles.

Pushing against the bureau with his hand, Shawn held himself steady. "Why wouldn't you trust me? I was the only one with a gun on your side."

"Because I told you not to shoot!" She shouted. "I told you not to shoot and you did anyway. I moved because I knew you'd be stupid enough to shoot, and stupid enough to hit me."

Shawn swallowed heavily. "So you're saying you moved because you didn't trust me to have the shot. You moved because you thought you were moving out of the way."

"Yes."

Their gazes – one hard and the other broken – held, imploring the other to be the first to retract previously spoken words. Neither of them did.

Gazing dejectedly at her husband, Juliet made for the exit silently. When she opened the door, a waft of warm winter air sprang into the house, flowing into the hall and removing the slight stupor from Shawn's mind and body on contact. Shaking the numbness from his system, he jogged down the rest of the hallway, feet pounding hard against the red carpet beneath him. He was ready to make another meager attempt to stop Jules before she made her way beyond the door – and his reach.

"Jules!" He called hoarsely, causing her to stop. "I should… I should have listened… I– I'm sorry." He bit his tongue, unsure of what he was saying. "What do I need to do to make you forgive me?"

Her sigh was heavy when she faced Shawn again. "You still aren't seeing. I already forgave you, you just haven't forgiven yourself."

Shawn felt revelation already beginning its gentle rearrangement of beliefs. "I… I'm trying, Jules. I just don't know how."

"You'll figure it out. I know you will. But I can't wait for the day you finally do." She turned back to the setting sun. "I've waited long enough."

"No, wait," Shawn felt a part of him sliding into place as another part started to slip out. "We've made it through fifteen years, why can't we make it through a few more?"

Juliet let out another halfhearted sigh, not turning around as she spoke. "Because I'm tired of forgoing my life for the sake of a failed marriage."

Shawn perked up at the word failed. "What do you mean failed? Jules… no…" Shawn's eyes pleaded where his voice didn't in that moment, trying to make her see that he didn't want them to end – not like this.

"Shawn, please." Juliet turned back to him, resolution holding firm. "Stop making this harder. Just let me go."

"I can't Jules… I just can't." Shawn said, fidgeting in frustration because the woman in front of him was not understanding him like he naturally expected her to.

"Why now? Why are you fighting so hard to keep me after all these years of fighting? After calling us a mistake… after Colin…"

Throwing his hands in the air for the second time that day, the man paced the floor in front of the open door. "Because I can't lose you! I can't lose my wife! Not when you're all I have left." He yelled, his voice cracking half way through.

Juliet reached her hand out and stalled him mid-stride. She looked into his hurt green eyes with her own. "That's not it, is it?" She asked softly.

Shawn stared back into her blue eyes, amazed that she still knew him better than anyone else, even through their fighting. "I can't… I can't be my father, Jules. Don't you understand? I can't be the one person I swore I'd never be."

A single tear trailed down Juliet's cheek, slipping off her face and impacting on the ground. "It's too late, Shawn. I'm sorry." With fleeting movement she raced out the door, disrupting the stilled twilight air as she sped around the corner and disappeared from her husband's sight.

Numbly, Shawn crumpled against the door, sliding down its length as he felt the teetering part of him slip off and shatter into a thousand jagged pieces, cutting bitterly into him. A more distant part of him registered the TV he'd forgotten to shut off as the device blared into his ears – _"The Thunderbirds have done it! They've won the playoffs! In a remarkable feat, the Thunderbirds have come from behind and made it to the Super Bowl! Gasevich's daring touchdown won't soon be forgotten…"_ The cheering crowd taunted while the setting sun disappeared beyond the horizon, taking the last of his justification away with her.

"_When two people decide to get a divorce, it isn't a sign that they 'don't understand' one another, but a sign that they have, at last, begun to."_  
- Helen Rowland


End file.
